Film Reels of You
by CheshireCity
Summary: Sometimes reuniting can be surprising. As Feliciano tends to a sick Ludwig, the German slowly begins to recall something familiar from the past... fluff, bl, comfort


Originally done as a fill for LiveJournal's kink meme, as found at Part 13, Page 8. Enjoy!

* * *

**Film Reels of You**

It was one of those lazy days, where summer was slowly fading over into autumn. The days were growing chillier, clouds crowding in eager clusters, trees leisurely turning to vibrant shades of scarlet and gold. It was Ludwig's favorite time of the year, in fact. The snow - biting and lethal - wouldn't come for a while longer and there was an optimistic sense of change on the wind, as well as nostalgia. It was the closest to poetic the blond was ever going to get, but to him, it was beautiful.

If only he could better enjoy it.

With a groan, he rolled over onto his side, glaring steadily at the ugly wallpapering. He really, really needed to peel that stuff off. If it wasn't hideous enough, he had been dissecting every inch of the patterning for the past half hour and was wishing fervently to never see the eyesore again. He figured the only reason he hadn't done something about it sooner was that, no matter how proactive a person he was, that he was ultimately always stunted by his lack of confidence in domestic matters. He would call up someone with a better eye for interior design, like Feliks, if he weren't so concerned that his humble abode would be transformed into some horrific palace of gayness. Pink walls would never sit well with him. Ever.

"What the hell kind of man am I anyway?' he grumbled to himself. "Worrying about the wallpaper like some woman." With a sigh, he heaved himself up off the couch, and almost fell over. A colorful stream of German curses flew from his mouth as he braced his head, trying to steady the spinning world around him.

"Germany~?" a worried cry come from a few rooms over.

"I'm okay." the German replied gruffly, bracing against the nearest wall for support. It was alright, he decided. He would never have so much as _noticed_ the wallpapering if he hadn't somehow caught cold in the first place. For someone with a type A personality, sitting still for more than a few hours didn't bode well with him. He paused, still inclined, as the pattering sound of feet approached.

"Germaaanyyy? Are you sure you're okay?" a concerned fluff of mahogany hair rounded the corner, very nearly slamming into him. "O-oh! Germany." Big, hazel eyes peered up at him. He must have been making some kind of a face, because the other pouted in a near-motherly sort of way. "You're _really_ not okay, Germany." he huffed. Before Ludwig could get a question out, he was being dragged across the hall and into his bedroom.

"Italy, what -?"

"You're a lot sicker'n you said." the Italian scolded, peeling back the sheets with an expert hand. "You should sleep and get better, okay?" There was an undeniable pleading about him, and Ludwig couldn't help but to cave.

"Alright, but I really think I'll be alright." he attempted half-heartedly. "I'll just shake it off in a few days, no pro -."

"Nuh-uh." the other pouted. "You'll just make yourself sicker if you try to ignore it." The German almost expected him to cross his arms across his chest. It was the smallest bit comical, if not somehow cute. (He figured he was safe to use that adjective, seeing as someone as hardcore and domineering as his brother used it on a regular occasion without harm to his manliness.)

With a resigned sigh, he peeled off his jacket and shirt, feeling a little more flush than he had originally realized. Letting the clothes collect on the floor, he crawled into his bed, feeling a pair of determined eyes on him. He sighed, sinking into the mattress gratefully. "I'll stay put, I swear." he mumbled just loud enough for the other man to hear. There was a pause, then gentle footsteps, and Ludwig knew no more because sleep had risen up and claimed him, leaving him vaguely wondering where this old feeling of nostalgia had come from.

* * *

When he awoke again, it was dark out. He stared blearily out his window, stuck in a state of sleepy disbelief. "How long was I out for?" he asked himself, running his fingers through his hair. The gel from earlier was starting to fail; it was an annoying truth that every time he took so much as a nap, his hair would get mussed beyond the grips of the gel.

"About six hours." Feliciano called lightly, entering the room. "Told ya you needed sleep."

"Six…?" the words died on his tongue. The Italian had brought him _food_. And not just food, but _hot, fresh_ food. He mused at himself. Was he a man or what? Getting excited over a meal.

"U-uhm…" the other mumbled, growing self conscious under the man's stare. "I… I made you dinner."

Ludwig broke out of his thoughts, blushing faintly. It was convenient that he was sick.

"You okay, Germany? Your face is flushed." the Italian fussed, drawing close and sitting in the neighboring armchair, resting the tray equally across his lap.

"I-I'm fine." the blond choked. "It's probably nothing."

"If you say so…" the younger frowned, looking down at the meal he prepared uncertainly. "So, uhm… I thought I'd make you something, but you don't have any pasta, so I… I tried." he finished apologetically.

"I'm sure it's fine." Ludwig said gruffly, trying to further hide his embarrassment. "You didn't have to do anything at all, you know. You probably shouldn't even be here if you think I'm that sick; I don't want you to get whatever it- "

"Don't be silly!" Feliciano pouted, making a cute face. "If you're sick, then someone should take care of you!" he laughed a little, fiddling with the lip of the tray. "I hope it turned out okay. I found the recipe on a card in your pantry."

"What is it?" the German hazarded, glancing at the bowl.

"Aalsuppe." the brunette answered, pronouncing slowly. "From Hamburg?"

"Aalsuppe?" Ludwig blinked in surprise. "Yeah, that's a regional dish of Hamburg. That was really ambitious of you to make…"

"Yeah, but there weren't any nasty eels in your icebox, so I used beef instead." Feliciano added, sticking out his tongue. So childish. Ludwig frowned. Something felt familiar about that… The tray settled across his lap gently, steam rising from the bowl. Sure enough, chunks of carrot and pear bobbed up at him. Figures that the Italian would only be proactive in the kitchen. "… that Alfred said it, that it must be sorta true. But we don't have American can soup, so I figured this'd work about the same." the brunet concluded, dancing back a few paces. "Is it okay?"

Ludwig tried to hide his look of genuine surprise. "It's wonderful, actually." he praised, watching the steam curl from the dish as he stirred it. He might actually try that pasta of his sometime…

"Ve~ … Really?" the Italian giggled nervously, readjusting his bandana. The blond paused, stopping to actually look at the other man. It looked like he had - against all odds - gotten skinnier again. He fidgeted anxiously, toying with the strings of the apron he had wrapped around his waist. It somehow looked much more feminine on him than it did on the German, perhaps because it was so loose on his frame. And there, atop his head, was a floppy white square of bandana. He felt like it should mean something…

"Yes, really." he replied distantly, still fixated on the accessory. "Since when did you start wearing that in your hair?"

"Eh? This?' Feliciano started, reaching up to touch the bandana as if there might be something else unknown and potentially poisonous up there instead. "Oh, I don't know." he answered dismissively. "Just an old habit, I suppose."

"Hunh…" the blond frowned, still troubled. He took a few more spoonfuls of Aalsuppe, savoring it's complex flavors. The Italian was a lot more talented than he had previously given him credit for. The dish, despite being foreign to Feliciano, was expertly made. He obviously hadn't given up on it, either, judging by the bandaged fingertips he had been trying to hide. Clear blue eyes raked over his room? Was it… cleaner? Somehow, it looked that way. Frowning, he glanced over at where he had disposed of his clothing earlier. Finding nothing, he cast about until he noticed both the shirt and jacket, folded neatly, upon his desk. Had this really been all Feliciano's doing?

_'What a perfect little housfrau.'_ he mused to himself, eyeing the Italian as he made his way over to the windows. _'He half acts as though he's my maid.'_ He smiled a moment before something large and obvious hit him. Maid. _Maid_. He glanced over quickly at the brunet, who was leaning against the sill to draw the curtains closed, oversized apron swirling around him almost like a skirt… There was no way. None.

Not for the apron, nor the bandana. Not for the gentle personality, nor the artistic ability, or fits of anxiety. Not for the fondness of Rome, who he, too, greatly admired. Not for the verbal ticks, nor the way his hair curled about his face… Because no matter how alike, no living being could match the ghost of a dream. It couldn't be.

_'He's Italy, for Christ's sake.'_ his subconscious yelled. _'_Italy! _How many of THOSE are running about?'_

_'Two, as a matter of fact.'_ he answered himself quietly. _'And they seem much too young to be… besides, that Italy was a girl. Probably their 'mother'.'_ An irrepressible pang of jealousy shivered through him at the thought. _'She probably had a nice life and met some nice… man… while I was off at war.'_ He insisted. _'And she probably grew up to be as beautiful and as wonderful as I always fantasized she would be…'_

He started as Feliciano perched on the side of the bed.

"Ah! S-sorry, Germany." he squeaked, waving his hands apologetically. "Didn't mean to startle you."

That nervousness: the ample apologies and bothered cheeks. There was no way. Images flickered back to him as he stared into Feliciano's eyes, staining them sepia. Like film reel. It had only been a dream. Some silly, childish dream that continued to creep back into his head at night like a determined weed with a several-hundred-year will. But even the worst weeds, he thought distantly, had the most beautiful flowers. Segments of words tumbled back to him, moving pictures that for a moment almost fooled him as being memory. It was odd how clear those images could be at times, lines so familiar it was as if he had rehearsed them for years.

"Ever since the 900's, I've always loved you." the words flowed from his lips, synching with the young blond from his dreams. Twin hazel orbs glanced up at him (them) in surprise. Mirrored surprise.

"W-what?" Feliciano whispered, a steady blush brushing across his nose.

"Eh! I-I'm sorry, I really don't know where that -"

"Where did you hear that?" the Italian interrupted, a sense of urgency overflowing from him. "Where did you hear those words?"

Ludwig stared back in silence as a jarring sense of reality crashed over him. Those weren't his _dreams_ alone. They weren't dreams at all. With startled clarity, he raised his gaze to meet the brunet's.

"I swore I'd come back to you one day."

There was a soft gape as Feliciano stared back at him, lips softly parted in shocked. His eyes scanned the other desperately, quickly hazing over as tears began to flow down his cheeks. "H-Holy Roman… " he broke off, overwhelmed with emotion. "Is it really…? But I…"

"Please don't cry, Feliciano." the German whispered much more gently than he knew he was able. "Don't cry."

"B-But where did you _go?_" the Italian sobbed, pitching forward slightly to cling to the other man's blanket.

"War…" the blond frowned, trying to collect all the shattered pieces of his memory. "The Empire was falling apart… that was the Thirty Years War, wasn't it?"

The Italian nodded quickly, "But after that? You never came back! I…" he faltered, more tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. "I thought you had died…"

Ludwig felt an odd stirring as he watched the other man tremble, crying the most genuine tears he had ever seen. Heart break. Without thinking, he cupped the man's face in his hand, thumbing away the tears.

"I don't break my promises." he whispered, ignoring the blush creeping back onto his face. "No matter how long it takes, I always follow through. A-ah?" Gentle arms wrapped around his neck, wet face burying itself into the crook of his neck. It took a second to process the fact that Feliciano was hugging him, pressed up against his bare chest. The Italian relaxed as strong arms embraced him.

"Couldya be a little speedier with 'em then please?" he laughed gently. "I never gave up waiting, you know…" he trailed off, breathing lightly. "Not even when Mr. Austria and France told me I should just give up, that you'd never come back. I never stopped believing that you'd come for me one day…" he squeaked in embarrassment, turning his face further into the man beside him.

"I think… I think the war changed me." the German admitted softly. "I can scarcely remember." He breathed the last word as if it were a bubble that might pop and send him back to reality at any moment. "The one thing I _do_ remember though, is you…"

This time he couldn't obscure the blush as the brunet popped up to look him clear in the eye. "Me?" he chirped. "Like what?"

"You painted pictures of rabbits…" the blond frowned, trying to remember. "And cleaned the house. You had a little push broom that you took with you everywhere."

"I tried to teach you to paint, once." the other nation admitted, growing sheepish. "But you got flustered and ran away." He exhaled, relief flooding his features. With a startled squeak, he glanced back up. "Y-You don't remember what I gave you when you left, do you?"

Ludwig blinked back at him blankly, conjuring up the image of the 'dream'. "You… you gave me- " he cut off, blushing heavily. "And that's why I thought you were a girl."

"S-so did Mr. Austria, ya see." Feliciano mumbled, flustered by the concept of the grown man still being in possession of his panties.

"But… there was something else you gave me." Ludwig pressed on in an even tone. "Something more important." Icy blue held auburn captive as the distance between them closed.

_My first kiss… and now, my last._

Feliciano melted against the kiss, both holding each other as they did that same day, over three hundred years ago.


End file.
